Primum non nocere
by LemonMeringueTart
Summary: Post Season-1 finale. Maura realizes that she must move forward with Jane.  Rated K to begin with, but will eventually be M.
1. Chapter 1

She sighs in her sleep. Her hands, complete with scars, clench involuntarily in her sleep. _Positive Myoclonus, _or muscle contractions are usually normal precursors to normal sleep patterns, but can have neurological implications if seen in conjunction with other symptoms. However, I have not recorded any other physical abnormalities with Jane, aside from the bullet wound in her side. Her hands relax, _Negative Myoclonus,_ and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Jane is fine. Jane is healthy. Jane is alive.

It's interesting how the processing of the wide-range of emotions resulting from a traumatic event will often be reduced to simplistic sentences and thoughts.

Jane is alive.

I allow myself to relax as much as possible in my wrinkled dress and uncomfortable hospital chair. She should wake up soon, and I will be here when she does.

"Maura."

My name is a statement, a question, and the answer all at once. When I became so poetic? These few hours watching her suffer in silence have left me retreating into my own inner consciousness and wondering what will happen now – now that she has done this, almost died, almost left me – can we go back to how things were? I want more from her and I need more from her now. She is alive. Thank God.

"Jane." I answer her quietly, my hand reaching for hers. "You are in the hospital – you are going to be fine.

Her eyes are heavy-lidded and dark. She swallows and her hand grasps mine like a lifeline.

"Frankie?"

"He will make a full recovery. Your parents are with him. If you'd like, I can go and get them. I know they have been waiting to see you." I continue holding her hand. I never want to let her go.

"No." She is firm. "Stay with me." Jane closes her eyes and moves imperceptivity. I know she is uncomfortable, but is unwilling to ask for anything. Quietly, I lean over and enter the override code into her morphine machine. Sometimes being a doctor has it's perks – the floor nurse has given me permission to adjust her pain medication to try to keep Jane as comfortable as possible.

We sit in silence for several minutes. There are so many things I want to tell her, but I am afraid. My eyes try valiantly to memorize every nuance of her face. It's unusual for her to be this quiet and still for this long. I know she must be in tremendous pain, and I release her hand and start nervously fussing with her blankets. I need to keep everything in order.

"Stop. I'm fine." She commands, and I instantly freeze. It's amazing the power she has over me, even lying stricken and half-dead in a hospital bed. Technically she is not "half-dead." I would have to run extensive tests on her vital organs to determine the percentage accurately.

My mouth opens in horror. How easily it is for me to retreat from reality into percentages, facts, and logic. This is not a healthy or productive way for me to react to this situation.

My entire life has been based on logic and facts. It was easier for me to focus on the tangible than rely on emotions. Logically, it would be fair to concur that my distant parents and their lack of emotional connections with me resulted in the evolution of a child who preferred things factual to imaginative. In fact, over 60% of adults with emotional disorders place the blame directly on their parents or upbringing for their own emotional problems.

Shaking my head, I realize that I am doing it again. No more – I am a highly trained scientist or well-above average intelligence. I should be able to easily override my normal responses in favor of my emotions.

Jane relaxes in the bed, and I can tell from her even breathing that the morphine is having its effect. I carefully document the dosage and the time to desired response in her chart as I wait for her to fall asleep. Once she does, I will report everything to the nurse and find Angela and Frank. I will help Jane by being highly logical and efficient.

I sink into my chair with the cold realization that maybe I am not what Jane needs. I provide security to her, another woman in the department, relief from the "boys club", and someone to talk with. We are great friends, she's the only friend I've ever actually had, and I understand now what all the girls were talking about when they spoke so highly of their "best friend." I provide a logical and methodical manner to counter-balance Jane's impulsiveness and instinct.

I am certain that with very little effort, we could continue our current relationship until one, or both, of us found someone else to date. Or, I could, for the first time in my life, put logic aside and listen to my heart. What would Jane say? Certainly one of her clever, yet crude, colloquial expressions like "shit or get off the pot." Tactful, I muse. One of the many things I adore about her.

"Jane?" Her name spills from my mouth before I can stop myself.

"Mm?" She responds, and it is clear she is nearly asleep.

"I love you." My voice sounds unfamiliar to my ears.

She smiles and reaches out for my hand demandingly. I take it and am surprised by the strength I find in her grip, even after all she has been through.

"Luvyou." Her voice is raspy and soft. She sighs, contented, and falls asleep.

I resume my seat in the chair next to her, our hands firmly grasped.


	2. Chapter 2

So, in my haste to publish the first chapter, I forgot all of the hogwash that comes first.

I do NOT own R & I. I know this storyline has been done (and overdone, honestly), but I needed somewhere to start. And like Maria from the _Sound of Music_ taught me, to start at the very beginning is a very good place to start. For me, Jane's "accident" is the beginning. In my experience, sometimes a slap in the face (or a bullet to the side) can be a very good wake-up call to start living right.

Finally, reviews are highly appreciated, but are not required. Thank you for reading.

Now, onward.

Primum non nocere: Chapter 2

Once I am certain Jane is asleep and will not wake for some time, I leave the room in search of her parents. My heels click on the floor in tempo with the machines carefully documenting her progress. Although my specialty is not triage, I am skilled enough to know that she was very, very lucky.

Jane managed to shoot herself and avoid all major organs, except for her right kidney. It had to be removed, due to the extensive damage. The most difficult part was the waiting – the surgeon did not know if further damage to her abdominal cavity would complicate her recovery until the surgery began.

I sat in the waiting room with Jane's parents, Frost, and Korsak for hours. Everyone kept asking me my opinion – where would the bullet have hit, what damage could have been done, and if she would be okay. For the first time in my life I admitted defeat and didn't have any answers for anyone. I shut down and told them that I didn't know. Very un-Maura-Isles-like. Jane would be so proud.

However, I did know the likelihood of Jane's outcome. I knew the statistics were against her, as the abdominal cavity is practically the worst place to receive a gunshot wound. I was the one who made it to Jane first after she shot herself. I was the one who held pressure on the wound while the other officers secured the scene. I was the one who saw Jane's dark eyes widen in pain and in fear. I was the one who felt her blood on my hands, my dress, and watched it run down pavement. I was the one who knew that she might die.

"Maura, I'm sorry. Had to stop him. I'm sorry." Jane's voice rasped out, her words coming fast and punctuated.

"Shh. It's okay. I'll take care of you. You'll be fine." My words to her came quickly, and I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. She might not be fine. Statistically, abdominal gunshots wounds are usually fatal unless the victim in incredibly lucky and the bullet penetrates no major vital organs. But there was so much blood, and I couldn't stop the bleeding, and so much time had passed. Where were the EMT's?

"Thought you.." Jane breathed, the pain evident in her voice, "couldn't lie." She tried to smile at me, but couldn't. The pain was just too much for her and I knew time was running out. I screamed in frustration.

"JANE!"

Shaking my head, I will myself to return to the present. I have many things to tell Jane, and even more questions to ask. The events of yesterday will surely need to be revisited and firmly dealt with, like an old acquaintance returning to rekindle the past. _"Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning."_ I repeat my mantra, worded so beautifully by Einstein, as I walk quickly down the hall.

I find Angela and Frank sitting with Frankie. He is well on his way to recovery, and may be discharged as early as tomorrow.

Frank moves quickly to give me a quick hug, while Angela crushes me to her. Frankie waves from the bed and grins. "Janie okay?"

"She woke up briefly. I explained what happened and she fell back asleep." I can't hide my smile.

"My baby girl." Angela brings her hands to her chest. "I need to go and see her." She rushes out of the room. Frank looks at me and shrugs.

"Thank you, Maura." He is the classic embodiment of an Italian gentleman. "I better go make sure Angela doesn't disturb Janie." He shuffles out of the room.

"How are you?" I ask the other Rizzoli patient. "Any pain? Fever?" My fingers itch to take a look at his chart, but I stop myself. I did not receive permission to assist with his recovery.

"I'm okay, little banged up, but I'm here thanks to you." He clears his throat, obviously as uncomfortable as I am with his display of emotion.

"My sister going to be okay?" For the first time, I see the little boy that Frankie Rizzoli must have been. His dark eyes, so similar to his sister's, full of hope. Begging me to tell him that everything will be okay.

"I think so. She woke up asking for you. She was very relieved when I told her you were going to be fine."

Frankie gives me a genuine smile now, and I can't help but smile back at him. "Yeah, Janie and I are close. I'm lucky, you know? She's the best big sister anyone could ask for. I don't know what I would have done if she had, you know." The smile fades from his face and he looks down at his hands. "Um, well, anyway, I guess I get to leave soon. What about Janie? When will she get sprung?"

"Sprung?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"Oh, um, you know, discharged or whatever." He quickly stammers. I realize that the only person who understands how literally I take things is Jane. I miss her; my body actually aches to be close to her. I wonder if this is normal – I have never felt these feelings before.

"Soon, I hope." It's unlike me to give such a vague answer, but I don't know what else to say to him. "I'm glad you're feeling well. I should go check on Jane." My fingers twitch against my side in anticipation of seeing her again.

"Okay, well, thanks again."

"You're welcome." I smile warmly, and give Frankie a careful hug. He returns it with enthusiasm.

After stopping at the restroom, the nurse's station, and making a few phone calls I quickly return to Jane's room. Frost and Korsak were ecstatic to hear that Jane was awake and talking. Korsak assured me that he was taking good care of Jo Friday and would go over to my home soon to feed Bass and Jane's tortoise, which she frustratingly enough still has not named. I don't know how she expects him to bond with her without a proper name, but Jane just argues that she hasn't found a "good one" yet.

"Maura! Will you please tell me mother that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself?" Jane's tense voice greets me the minute I walk into the room. She is sitting more upright than when I left her, and has several large pillows propped up behind her head. She looks extremely uncomfortable, and even more extremely pissed off.

Angela is sitting protectively at Jane's bedside with Frank hovering nervously in the background.

"Jane, you shouldn't be sitting so upright!" I admonish, and quickly remove a few of the pillows. "You need to remain at a 45 degree angle for the next 18-24 hours to optimize blood flow and reduce the chance of constriction."

Jane's face, so pale when I left her just a few short minutes ago, flushes a bright red. "I know." She says, gritting her teeth.

"That was my fault, Maura." Angela interrupts. "I was trying to help Janie." She looks down at her hands, nervously moving in her lap. "I didn't know that would bother her."

Jane sighs, and closes her eyes. I know her so well, and know that she wants to reach up and pinch the bridge of her nose, but is nervous of displacing the mass of wires and machines around her.

"Ma, it's fine. Listen, I'm really tired. Why don't you and Dad get some rest. Please." Jane softens her tone and I can tell she's trying to keep her composure and not lose her temper with her mother.

"No." Angela pushes herself further into the chair. "I'm not going anywhere. Don't you think you can almost kill yourself, Jane Angela Rizzoli, and then order me out of your life. I am staying here and making sure you are taken care of."

Jane's eyes plead with mine. I wring my hands nervously, afraid to cross her mother, but desperate to keep Jane calm.

"She will be taken care of." Frank quietly states. He smiles at me, and firmly grasps his wife's arm, practically lifting her from the chair. "We are going home. We all need to rest." He smiles at me, and takes Jane's hand to place a gruff kiss on it. "See you later, baby girl."

At the first sign of protest from Angela, Frank gives her a hard look. Silently, she nods.

"Well, fine. But I will be back here tomorrow." She places a tender kiss on Jane's forehead and gives me a tight hug before leaving.

"Yay." Jane says sarcastically. She looks exhausted.

"How is it that I leave you – asleep – and twenty minutes later return to find you showing symptoms of severe anxiety?" I gently admonish her as I check the readings of the medical equipment scattered around her room.

"Two words." She responds, clearly still annoyed. "My mother."

I laugh, for the first time since the incident.

She yawns, and looks embarrassed. "But you're back now." She smiles, and all of the frustration melts from her chocolate eyes. "I can relax again."

I fix her hair, mussed from her mother's pillow experiment. "Then relax you shall." I whisper to her as I return to my position by her side. "Get some rest, I'll be here when you wake up."

Jane practically melts down into the bed. I can see the exhaustion she carries, and know that she desperately needs rest so her body can focus on healing.

"You will?" She murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. "Be here when I wake up, I mean?"

I nod, even though she can't see me. "I promise."

"Kay." My love falls asleep with a small smile on her face.

I have been wearing this wrinkled, blood-stained dress for over 24 hours. I have blisters on my heels from my not-quite-broken in new Gucchi heels, and I haven't eaten anything today. My body aches from sitting in this chair, and I suspect I am long over-due for a shower.

But I have never been so happy.


	3. Chapter 3

I am overwhelmed by the amount of positive feedback & story alerts I have received for this little tale. Thank you.

* * *

"Ahem." A low voice subtly wakes me from my uncomfortable sleep. Unsettled, I jerk upright, instinctively flattening my ruined dress. "Dr. Savage." I nod with a tight smile and extend my hand.

"Dr. Isles." He responds brightly. "I'm sorry to have woken you, but I need to check up on Ms. Rizzoli this morning. Smiling fondly at me, he glances toward the still-sleeping Jane. "She is doing very well – better than expected. Why don't you go home, you look like you could use some rest."

My eyes dart to Jane. She is doing well, her vitals are strong, and there are no signs of infection from her surgery. However, the thought of leaving her causes my anxiety levels to rise dramatically, regardless of how uncomfortable I am. However, it is obvious that I need some fresh air, a meal, and a change of clothes. I have completely fallen out of my usual daily routine, and this hospital chair is dreadful. I'm sure both the staff and visitors would appreciate areas of rest to be more ergonomic. It would surely increase both the productivity of the staff and the comfort of visitors. I wonder who is in charge of furnishing the rooms here. They certainly could not have hired a professional designer; no one with any design skills would pick ivory plastic chairs and mint green paint for the walls. Didn't they know that mint green is one of the worst colors for a hospital as it can influence feelings of nausea in people?

I tilt my head to the side as I ponder who the best person to speak with about improving the quality of the furnishings and hospital atmosphere would be.

"Dr. Isles?" Jane's surgeon's voice pulls me out of my musings. I feel my face flush, a certain sign of embarrassment. However, I don't feel embarrassed. It is quite normal for a person who has just undergone a traumatic experience to focus on tangible and "in the moment" situations in order to distract and distance themself from the wide range of emotions they are feeling.

"Thank you for your concern; however, I promised Jane I would be here when she woke up, and there is nothing that can stop me from keeping my promise." Truthfully, there are a number of things that could stop me, statistically speaking, but I do not want to bore the doctor with those facts.

"You kept your promise." The familiar, husky voice rasps out from behind me.

Jane is awake.

I quickly turn, ignoring the pain in my heels from these ridiculously fashionable-yet horrible shoes to greet her. "Hi." I smile widely at her. I know that I should be concerned at how easily I allow myself to feel light-hearted in her presence, but I am not. Instead, I plan on enjoying every foolish moment I have as each one will be a novelty to me. I don't ever remember feeling this carefree, and that should be alarming considering the circumstances that surround this situation. Jane, Frankie, and myself (not to mention Bass) all could have been killed. Countless other officers have been killed. Boston PD will be put through an unfortunate investigation about the lack of security that allowed this officer to undermine his superiors and jeopardize the safety of the community. This will be a low point for our unit, and the situation should be taken very seriously.

However, I am – dare I say – giddy.

"Hey." Jane smiles back, and I see the sleep clear from her eyes. The beauty of it is unlike anything I've seen before, and I gasp softly with the realization that I want to see this happen every day, for the rest of my life.

I pour her a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. Her scarred hands take the glass from me gratefully and she carefully takes a sip.

"Mm. Thank you." She continues to drink, and looks behind me to study the surgeon, her brown eyes squinting to read the name on his tag. Dr. Savage seems to be allowing us this moment, as he is carefully reading over Jane's chart while making notes.

"Dr. Savage?" Jane whispers. "Of all the doctors in Boston, you get me one named Dr. Savage?" Jane's eyes widen, as she sets her empty cup of water down. "Were Dr. Butcher and Dr. Exterminator unavailable?" Her hands start to flail, and this is when I realize that she really is fine. She is no longer the quiet and still being she was yesterday. Now she is my Jane again.

I try to contain my mirth, but am unable to keep the corners of my mouth from smirking.

"Really, Maura?" She continues. "Is this a joke? Am I being punked?"

My brow furrows and I tilt my head to the side. "Punked?" I shake my head. "I am unfamiliar with that term."

Jane sighs. "Never mind."

Dr. Savage makes his way over to Jane. "Good morning, Ms. Rizzoli. I see you are feeling better." He smiles, and I notice that the tips of his ears are pink. He has clearly overheard Jane's whispers, which is upsetting. Despite the quite unfortunate name, Dr. Savage is one of the best surgeons in the city and luck would have it that he happened to be on call when Jane was brought in.

"It's Jane, please. And I am feeling better." Jane states seriously, but I can tell her loud laugh is just bubbling below the surface. However, she is keeping a very straight face and I pat her hand. I am proud of her.

"My name is Dr. Sa" He begins.

"It's pronounced Sah-vaj" I interrupt. "From the medieval English or early Old French verb of salvage or sauvage, meaning wild and uncontrolled. Surnames during this time were often attributed to physical attributes, personal characteristics, occupation, or location."

"Ah, yes, ah, thank you, Dr. Isles." Dr. Savage states, his eyes darting back and forth between Jane and myself.

This is obviously the last straw for Jane, because she is unable to contain her laughter.

"Nonono," I push my hands to her shoulders, "don't laugh, it will compromise your stitches and cause pain."

Unfortunately, I am unable to get the words out fast enough, and as I finish speaking Jane is gripping the sides of her bed, in obvious agony.

"Jesus, Maura." She hisses. "Why do you have to be so damn funny?"

Due to her extreme discomfort, I decide to not admonish her for her inappropriate language. I also am confused as to what she found funny about my explanation of Dr. Savage's surname.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay and continue this – ah – interesting conversation, I do have several other patients to check on. I need to check Jane's surgical wound, however."

"Of course, doctor." I reply. "I apologize; we did not mean to keep you." I realize he has an exam to do that will, most likely, make Jane both physically and emotionally uncomfortable. I understand how modest Jane is and know that this will be very difficult for her.

Dr. Savage explains to Jane & myself that after his exam, he will be meeting with another doctor from ICU to discuss their thoughts about her release date, physical therapy, and recovery timeline.

"Maur?" Jane asks, her dark eyes hopeful. "Do you think you could maybe go to my place and grab a few things for me?

I realize she needs privacy.

"Of course." I squeeze her hand. "What would you like?"

Her words come quickly. "My toothbrush. Warm socks, some of my own clothes, my hairbrush, something to read, and a beer." She stops, looking sheepish.

"And?" I ask, knowing that her list isn't complete. There is something she clearly wants to add – what could it be?

She speaks to me in a low voice through gritted teeth. "That blue thing under my pillow. Just bring it, okay?"

"There are a number of things that could be under your pillow, Jane. Your housekeeping skills could use some fine tuning. Can you describe it to me so I can be sure to bring you everything you are asking for?"

"Maura." Jane warns. "I am lying here with my side ripped open. Just please put your hand under my pillow and grab the blue thing there and bring it back with you."

Oh, this has got to be good. Poor Jane is squirming around like a five-year old who has to go to the bathroom. Taking pity on her, I give her a wide grin.

"Anything for you. I will get everything and be back soon."

She smiles at me, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Thank you. Don't rush back; I'm sure the good doctor here will be keeping me entertained for quite a while." Rolling her eyes, she puts on her best brave face, but I know she is worried about the exam and what the surgeon will be telling her.

"Everything will be just fine. I'll be back as soon as I can." I give her hand one last squeeze, noticing how she is hesitant to let me go. I give her the most reassuring smile I can, say my farewell to Dr. Savage (who is understandably looking a bit annoyed), and head for the parking lot.

The morning air has a slight chill to it, and for the first time in over a day I take a deep breath in, savoring its freshness. My heels click loudly on the pavement and the sound is immediately lost in the din of the city morning. It's a gorgeous day in Boston, and the city feels electric. My energy level is completely refreshed, despite the events of the past few days.

I miss Jane already. I make my way to her apartment in Kenmore Square. Traffic is light; as light as it can be in Boston, and I am grateful that everyone is already at work and I am able to zip right along to Jane's. I will get everything she needs from her place, and then make the short drive to my home in Brookline. I have one other quick stop to make, and should arrive back to the hospital before lunch. Perfect.

As I open the door to Jane's apartment, I am overwhelmed by the essence of her. I run my hands over her handsome piano and wonder if she still plays. Looking around at her possessions makes me eager to be back in her room, sitting in that dreadful chair. I hurry through her list of things to bring, and add some things to her duffel bag that she might want as well.

Just as I am leaving, I remember the mysterious "blue thing under her pillow." Sighing, I make my way back toward her bedroom, and see her covers in disarray. Does she never make her bed, or was she running late to work that morning? When she woke up, did she have any idea that she wouldn't be coming home to her bed? I shake my head to stop these unwanted thoughts. The faster I complete these tasks, the faster I can return to Jane. I reach my hand under her rumpled pillows and grab onto something soft.

Pulling it out, I see that is indeed blue. And it's a stuffed hippopotamus.

I gently sit on the edge of Jane's bed, cradling her blue hippopotamus in my hands as if it might break. It is obviously a well-loved hippo, worn from years of being held and played with. It's missing one ear and some of the cottony stuffing is peeking out. I absentmindedly push it back in as I lovingly caress the toy. It stares back at me with a toothy grin. It makes my heart ache, though I cannot determine why.

Of course, my mind wants to review everything I know about Hippopotami, but I am able to stop myself.

Before I know it, I am lying on Jane's bed, clutching the hippo as I bury my face in Jane's pillow and breath in the scent of her shampoo. Tears roll down my face and I do nothing to stop them.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, you all have made me a happy camper with your reviews….and the sheer amount of people following is very cool. Thanks!

I have to add that we have a litter of 4 week old litter of pups right now, conveniently (or not so) located next to the computer. We show our dogs and have been waiting for this litter out of our two champions. If I am lax with updates, it's because I'm being bombarded by the cutest little terriers in the world who are just begging to be cuddled.

The bright sunlight pouring in the room causes me to bury my face in the pillow. I know I'm in Jane's bed; the thread count of her 250 cotton jersey sheets is much lower than the 1200 count I prefer.

As I leisurely stretch, I recall the first time Jane slept in my bed. Clearly platonic, she came to me seeking solace. She fell asleep instantly once we turned out the light. The next morning, she said it was the best sleep she's ever had and it must have been because of my "freaky deaky magic sheets."

I'm still not certain what she meant.

The antique clock next to the bed reads 2:30pm. Grabbing Jane's hippo, I shoulder her bag and hurry home to shower and change. I obviously didn't plan on falling asleep, but I have to admit that I feel much better. Sliding into my car, I take the hippo and place him protectively in the passenger seat. I resist the urge to buckle him in; obviously he could not sustain any life-threatening injuries if we were to be involved in a collision. I chuckle to myself; perhaps I could have used a few hours more sleep.

I manage to shower, change, and make one more stop before heading back to the hospital. It's much later than I expected to return. I hope that Jane has been able to rest and remain as calm as possible.

No such luck. I can hear the loud and heated voices coming from her room as I push the door open. Jane's small room is well over capacity. She is still in bed – barely – with Frank sitting in the chair next to her looking bewildered. Jane's face is flushed a deep red and her hands are waving all around her head.

Angela is standing toe to toe with a tall man in a suit and the two of them are exchanging heated words. Frost, his hands on his hips, is pacing while shaking his head. Korsak is yelling at another suited man, and the poor floor nurse is going from person to person apparently, (and unsuccessfully), trying to stop the commotion.

"Excuse me." My voice goes unheard. I become instantly angry. How dare they disrupt Jane like this – not to mention the other patients in this wing?

"ENOUGH!" I shout, my anger taking over. I pride myself on my ability to maintain a calm demeanor in virtually every situation; however, there is no chance of me remaining calm when it comes to Jane's well-being. My voice is so loud that I actually jump myself.

Silence overtakes the room, and I self-consciously tug the ends of my button-down shirt down. I decided to wear something more comfortable to the hospital, and chose my most comfortable shit and beloved Burberry slim-leg trousers. I actually purchased these for evenings out with Jane at the Dirty Robber. Consuming several drinks while wearing a dress is something I don't plan on doing again – at least not in public. Jane still has not let me forget the time I slipped while sliding out of the booth and landed in a very unflattering position. She was quick to help me up despite being doubled-over in laughter, and it was a relief to me when I realized that I had indeed worn appropriate undergarments that evening.

Everyone is still staring at me. Despite my attempts to remember a humorous moment in order to calm myself down, I feel my anger returning.

"Your behavior is unacceptable. Jane needs peace and quiet to recover from this life-threatening injury. I want everyone out of here, now." My tone is quiet, but forceful. I glare at each and every person in the room, except for Jane, her father, and the harried nurse. She scurries out of the room, and when no one else follows her, I open the door for them.

"You heard me. Out." The remaining people in the room remain in place. I turn my icy stare to Korsak, and it has the desired effect. He nods quickly at Jane and hurries out of the room. As he leaves the room, I hand him my car keys.

"I need everything in my trunk brought up here." I give him a small smile. "Please."

He nods. "I can keep Jo and the gang as long as you need. She's my little buddy."

"Thank you." He scurries out of the room with Frost easily following; but not before glancing at Jane and giving her a small smile. Jane is frozen on her bed, her hands suspended in mid-air. Her mouth is open in surprise, and her chocolate eyes are wide.

I turn my attention to the two suited men, whom I do not know. "Gentleman, I'm assuming you realize that Ms. Rizzoli was just involved in a terrible incident and needs some peace and quiet. I would appreciate if you would come back at a later date."

The taller man, who was arguing with Angela, approaches me. "Ma'am, we are here on official police business." His tone is condescending and I instantly dislike him.

The second man finally has the nerve to speak. "We're with Internal Affairs. We just need to ask Detective Rizzoli a few questions about the shooting." He glances to Angela. "Seems Mrs. Rizzoli didn't like our line of questioning."

"They had the nerve to accuse my baby of endangering the public!" Angela wails. "I told them where they could go. If they think for one second that Jane did anything wrong.."

"Mrs. Rizzoli," the tall man starts, "we are here to investigate the events of the shooting to determine if Detective Rizzoli acted in the best interest of the department as well as upheld her duty to keep the public safe.."

"I was being held hostage by a member of the department." Jane interrupts. "What was I supposed to do, let him shoot me? Let him open fire on all the other officers?"

My anger now bubbles over the surface and I can't contain it.

"GET OUT." I shout as I advance on the tall officer. "Finish your questions tomorrow." I point to the door. "There is nothing left for you to discuss."

At my outburst, Frank stands up and walks over to my side.

"You heard the lady. Buzz off, leave my daughter alone." He places a hand comfortingly on my shoulder.

"Ma'am, you have no right to tell me how to do my job." He responds. "I have questions to ask Detective Rizzoli, and I will ask them."

"I know I don't have a right to tell you how to do your job." I answer coolly. "But I believe that the Chief of Internal Affairs is still Thomas Daly, correct?"

The shorter officer looks nervous, as he should. Chief Daly is well-known for being very tough on his officers, and his department has the highest turnover rate of any in the BPD.

"My father and Chief Daly are good friends. I'm sure he would not want to hear of your abusive and ill-timed questions to my good friend here." I smile sternly at the two men. "There is a time and a place for everything, gentleman. I suggest you choose another time and place for this discussion. Do you understand me?" My insides are quaking, and I feel my façade start to crumble. My hands clench the bottom of my shirt and I wonder why I didn't decide to wear something with shorter sleeves. Is it ninety degrees in here, or is it just my body's natural reaction to my anger?

The officers leave without another word. I feel myself sinking to the floor and hear Jane's voice ringing in my ears. "Dad – catch her!"

I vaguely feel Frank's arms stop me from hitting the floor, and I manage to stand upright on my own. Brushing off his hands, I feel my face flush and clear my throat.

"I'm fine; I just need to eat something. I'm clearly suffering from a moderate case of hypoglycemia, given my symptoms of irritability, anger, dizziness, and fatigue." I attempt my most convincing smile, but I can tell that Jane's parents are skeptical.

"She's gonna make it." Jane states seriously. "She's spouting useless trivia and medical jargon. Back to normal." She flashes me a wide smile to let me know she is joking.

Korsak and Frost arrive, toting all of my bags. I didn't realize I had packed so much. Still unsteady on my feet, I manage to shakily walk to Jane's bedside and sink into the dreaded chair. Jane grabs my hand and gives me a hearty squeeze. Her energy level seems to have improved, which is a very good sign.

"Hey." She greets me seriously, but her brown eyes are dancing with laughter. "You okay?"

I foolishly grin at her. "Yes."

"Are you moving in here or something?" She continues, her low voice still serious as she glances around me to see the bags sitting in the middle of her room.

I shrug. "Would it upset you if I did?"

"No." She shakes her head quickly, her eyes lighting up. "No, not at all." Her resulting smile makes me feel even weaker inside.

"Ma, why don't you and Daddy head home for the night?" Jane suggests hopefully. "Thank you so much for keeping me company all day, but Maura will take over from here."

Angela looks as if she's going to protest, but doesn't. She gives me a strange and unsettling look before kissing Jane goodbye. Frank follows her to the door.

Korsak plops down on the edge of Jane's bed. "So, Doc, what's in the bags?"

Jane kicks him. I see from her grimace that the motion resulted in obvious pain, but she acts as if it was worth it. "Don't be nosy. The two of you need to skedaddle."

"C'mon, you can buy me a beer. I need one after that." Frost is still clearly angry from the altercation before with the IA officers.

They say their goodbyes, and shuffle out.

Jane and I both visibly sigh and our eyes meet.

I have heard people describe someone's gaze as 'electric'. The term has always been confusing to me, but as I gaze into Jane's lovely dark eyes, I feel almost a current run through my body which instantly warms me. Her lashes are jet black and long against her pale cheeks, and I can't help but think that she is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"Did you get everything?" She asks me, her voice soft and husky.

"Yes." I whisper. "Your hippo is safe."

She smiles bashfully. "You probably think it's stupid."

"Oh no, never." I respond truthfully as I unzip her bag to find the hippo sitting carefully on top. "I made him ride in the passenger seat on the way over here so he wouldn't get crushed." Handing her the stuffed animal, she clutches it to her chest.

Her wide eyes, so childlike as she hugs the hippo to her chest, meet mine again. "His name is Hungry."

"Like the country?" I question. "That's an unusual name."

"Right." Jane says seriously. "Like having a pet turtle named Bass is so normal." She smirks. "Tortise, I mean." She corrects herself before I can.

I grin at her.

"His name is Hungry, like the game." She responds, obviously assuming I understand what she's talking about.

"C'mon, Maur. You don't know the game Hungry Hungry Hippos?" Clutching the blue hippo in her hands, she shakes her head sadly. "We are playing it as soon as I'm out of here. We played it all the time when I was a kid. I was the best, could beat anyone in my family. That's why I got this guy here. My dad bought him for me because I was so good at that damn game."

"Thank you for trusting me with him." I smile fondly at her. "I'm honored that you would trust me with something you obviously consider very special."

"You're my best friend." Jane answers. "I trust you with everything."

As she gazes into my eyes, I wish I knew what she was feeling and thinking. Deciding to take the plunge while she is fully awake and present, I tell her again.

"I love you." My voice is tremulous and I feel my hands start to tremor; a symptom both of hypoglycemia and anxiety.

"Didn't we already do this?" Jane teases. "I know I was practically unconscious, but I remember having this same conversation with you." She keeps one hand firmly clutched around Hungry, and reaches the other toward me. I take it, and notice her hand has a slight tremor as well. "Seriously, Maur, you know that I love you, right?"

I nod my head. "I know we are very good friends and that we have a very good working relationship."

She sighs. "Of course. We are best friends, and professionally work great together. But you know I love you, don't you?" She cocks her head and grits her teeth. "Like I love you, love you."

Tilting my head, I furrow my brow. "I don't understand."

"Geez, and all these years I thought you were some kind of genius or something." She smiles. "Maybe it took me almost killing myself to not be afraid to tell you or to act on my feelings. I love you. I'm in love with you. I want to be with you. I want a relationship with you." Jane looks eerily calm, her intense brown eyes holding mine captive.

My mouth opens in shock. I had been so hopeful that Jane would feel this way, but honestly did not expect to hear her say the words.

"Okay." I nod, unable to say anything else.

"Okay." She nods back, still very serious.

We sit there, staring into each other's eyes as the second hand on the clock ticks away. Jane's hand has stopped shaking and sits quietly in mine. The blue hippo smiles his toothy grin and all is right with the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for your kind reviews. Keep them up! Reviews seem to make me write faster.

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"This show is so stupid." Jane mutters as she reaches for the remote. "Who in their right mind wouldn't stop to help that man?" She shakes her head as she flips through the channels.

I have spent the past two days in the hospital with Jane, sleeping comfortably at night on the camping cot I picked up from REI on my way back to the hospital. I have rarely left her side, which seems to infuriate her mother for some strange reason. Jane just keeps saying that "Ma will get over it."

I'm not sure what she is supposed to get over. I'm certain Jane hasn't told her of the step forward we have taken in our relationship.

Jane's recovery is going quite well. Her spirits are good, helped by the daily visits of Frankie, Frost, and Korsak; who enjoy coming by to play cards and inevitably lose money to Jane. They tried to teach me how to play blackjack, but after a few hands, begged me to not play anymore. I'm uncertain why more people are not successful at this game. It's quite easy to count cards (especially with one deck) and have a better advantage of knowing what card will be dealt next, therefore being more accurate to decide if you want a "hit" or not.

Jane enjoys playing when it is just the two of us, and doesn't mind when I win. In front of the "boys", however, she prefers to be the winner. I understand how important her pride is to her, and how, especially in her situation now, she needs to feel as if she is in control. I am content to read or go for a walk during their nightly games.

I have learned more about Jane in these past two days than in our years of friendship. I know now that when she is hungry, she becomes very cranky. When she sleeps, she prefers to fling one long leg out from the covers. She loves to watch the food channel, and comment how "No Italian food is as good as my grandmother Rizzoli's."

It's also been very interesting how easily our relationship has effortlessly become more connected. We have always been quick to offer the other physical contact in means of support or comfort, but now it is as if Jane requires my touch to function. When her pain medication is wearing off, she immediately reaches for my hand. During her physical therapy, she grits her teeth to endure the pain yet doesn't take her eyes off of mine. When we are alone together, if I need to leave her side for any reason, she pulls me down for a quick kiss and tells me that she loves me, and to hurry back.

There doesn't seem to be any conscious thought to her actions, and they come naturally and comfortably. It has been so easy for both of us, and it is unlike any other serious relationship I have ever had.

"Maur?" Jane asks. I turn to face her, her face lit beautifully by the bedside lamp. Her normal olive-skin tone has returned and she finally looks like she is feeling better.

"Yes?"

"Was I stupid to do what I did?" Her voice is vulnerable, and I notice that she's turned the channel back to 'What Would You Do?'. We have been watching this show for the almost a half an hour, and I have picked up noticeable signs of increased tension with Jane. She seems easily frustrated and angry when she feels the general public in the area of the staged situation don't offer help to the person in need.

I tried to explain that human beings are unpredictable in situations of stress or conflict because their behavior is influenced by the social environment, upbringing, selfishness, fear, and personal experiences with a similar situation. Jane argued with me that regardless of the person's "issues", they should still be able to know the difference between "right" and "wrong." Unless they were one of the "crazies" that she tries to catch on a daily basis.

She made quite a good point, although not a scientific one.

"No." I respond truthfully. "You were not stupid to do what you did. You thought it was the only way out of the situation, and the only way to keep the people around you safe." I swallow audibly as I try to push the memories of all the blood, _Jane's blood_, out of my mind. "You were very brave."

She rests back in bed, obviously more comfortable now.

Today was very stressful for her. Two different officers from IA returned and asked me to leave the room while they interviewed Jane. It was the longest twenty minutes of my life as I paced outside of her room. Because of my near fainting spell, Jane quickly realized that I had lied to the other officers, and that my father did not personally know Chief Daly. Still, I was a little proud of the fact that two other men came in their place. Perhaps I scared them, just a little.

Jane maintained her composure throughout the interview, but looked quite drained when they left. She then had to start her physical therapy, which right now just involves getting out of bed and walking up and down the hall as well as some stretching exercises.

The surgeon and her doctor have both told her that if she keeps up her progress, she will be home by Sunday evening. Angela was quite happy about this, as that is the Rizzoli traditional dinner night. Her face clouded when I mentioned that Jane would be doing nothing but resting in bed for a few days after she was released from the hospital and that sitting at a dinner table would be very uncomfortable for her.

Still, I know that Jane is eager to be released, although we haven't spoken about where she will be staying. I could make a good argument about the stairs leading up to her third floor walk-up being most inhibitive to her recovery, or I could just tell her how I am feeling. I opt for the latter.

"Jane, when you are released, I'd like you to come and stay with me."

She peels her eyes from the television, where John Quinones is questioning a man who ignored a fake crying baby left in a car.

"Sure." She responds, before watching the show again. "Can you believe this, doc? This guy, wearing a fireman's t-shirt, hears a baby crying in the car, sees no mother around, and just keeps walking."

I have told Jane before that I find her deceptively complex. She is so proud of her independence, yet will immediately agree to come and live with me while she is recovering. I expected some sort of conflict, and definitely an argument about how she would feel as if she was invading my space, keeping me from work, and how she didn't need to be treated like a "baby."

In fact, I had the entire conversation planned out in my head as to most likely it would proceed. Jane would be defensive about needing at-home care, uncomfortable about not being in her own space, angry that I thought she couldn't take care of herself, and more importantly, unsure as to how it would look to her parents and co-workers.

I did not prepare for her quick compliance, and am uncertain how to proceed.

"What time should I have the U-Haul arrive?" She asks, not taking her eyes off of the television.

I furrow my brow and tilt my head. "Can you justify renting a moving vehicle for just a few belongings?"

Jane finally meets my eyes, hers dancing with laughter. "Maura, you're joking, right?"

Shaking my head, I respond. "I just can't imagine that you would need to bring that many things over. My car, although not spacious, will certainly hold your clothes, everything that Jo will need, and any other small items you'd like to bring."

"Oh, okay then." Jane states. "Maura, have I told you in the last five minutes how much I love you?"

I can't help the wide smile that forms on my face. Ducking my head, I blush. "No, you haven't."

"Well, I better say it again." She grabs my hand. "Hey, look at me."

Lifting my head, I meet her eyes. I feel overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze and it is very difficult to continue to hold eye contact with her. My entire body feels flushed and I have the feeling that I am slowly drowning in everything that is Jane, which I know is impossible.

"I love you." She states firmly. "Don't ever let yourself forget that, regardless of anything stupid I say or do." She pauses. "This isn't easy for me. I hate feeling useless, and I hate feeling like I can't take care of myself." Clearing her throat, she adds, "I'm going to, at some point, lose my temper and get angry about what happened and how helpless I feel."

"I know." I respond. "And I am so frightened by the thought of losing you again, that it has resulted in the necessity for me to not leave your side."

Smiling at me, she squeezes my hands and pulls me toward her. I stretch to remain in my chair as to not put any pressure on her midsection.

"I like you by my side." She whispers, her mouth a fraction from mine. "In fact, once I'm feeling better, I plan on keeping you by my side all the time." She lowers her voice. "Naked, though."

"Oh." I sigh, closing my eyes. "That would be nice."

The next thing I feel is Jane's lips on mine. All of our kisses since our proclamations of love have been fast, almost chaste. This is much different, and for the first time in my life, I turn my brain off; stop thinking, and just feel.

Jane's lips are soft and oh, so sweet. Our kiss deepens and I feel a surge of red-hot fire through my belly when her tongue swipes across mine. I moan into her mouth and remove my hand from hers to gently trace her face. If this is what love feels like, and what happiness is, then why did I wait so long to do this?

Lost in the essence of Jane, I don't even feel myself move closer to her but am suddenly aware that I am standing over her bed, my hands tangled in her hair, and my mouth pressed firmly to hers. Jane runs her hands down my back and hugs me close to her.

My brain turns back on, and I sigh in frustration. A nagging pain in my latissimus dorsi leads me to reluctantly pull back from her. The camping cot is much different from my bed at home and the sudden switch in sleeping areas, combined with the extreme stress over the past several days has resulted in a nagging backache. Leaning over Jane's bed did not help, though was certainly worth it.

Her face is flushed and she is panting. "Wow." She mutters, her fingers pulling through her mahogany locks in attempt to neaten them. "Maura, if I had known you were that good, I'd have declared my undying love for you years ago."

I laugh, loud and full.

"Well, that's what I like to hear!" Korsak's booming voice greets us as he enters, followed by Frost. "How ya feeling?" He asks.

Jane smiles, the blush quickly fading from her face. She glances at me, smirking. "Never better."

"Good." Frost responds seriously. "Now, prepare to have that silly smirk wiped off your face, because I am not losing tonight." Taking a deck of cards from his interior jacket pocket, he sits down on the chair and proceeds to shuffle loudly.

"I am going to leave you to your game, and go for a walk." I smile at Jane. "See you soon, okay?"

"You're leaving?" Jane frowns. "But I wanted to teach you how to play poker!"

"That's what she said." Frost muttered. Korsak chortles as Jane gives them a filthy look.

"You want me to stay?" I ask. Jane nods seriously. "Okay." I sit on the edge of her bed and help her sit more upright. "I've never played this game, but have studied the science of it."

"Of course." Frost mutters again. He is clearly on edge. "Can't wait to hear your theories, doc."

"Hey." Jane says, her tone sharp. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

My eyes widen and I fold my hands in my lap.

"Bad case today." Korsak pipes up as Frost continues to shuffle the cards. "Murders down in the parking garage at the Seaport Hotel. Two cops, both suspected to be dirty and three other guys." He glances at Frost, who's dark eyes remain impassive. "IA's all over the place at the station, everyone's being questioned, and it's a royal pain in the ass." He clears his throat. "Not that we'll ever figure out who did it or anything, at least with you laid up for a little while. You're our best guy, er, you know what I mean."

"Uh huh." Jane muses. "I'll remember that when I'm back and you're questioning my every move."

Korsak chuckles. "Well, nothing to worry about. It's not like some lunatic killer is on the loose. We think someone cleaned up after, uh, you know, what happened the other day. You know, like last time things got cleaned up."

Frost deals out the cards and picks his up.

"Oh." Jane responds as she puts her cards in order. I remain motionless, trying to process everything said. Does this mean Jane is in danger? My frantic eyes meet hers, and see that her gaze remains calm. What am I missing?

Jane shows me how to put my cards in order and begins to explain the game to me. I can't seem to concentrate on what she's saying and my eyes fill with a copious amount of lacrimal fluid that I'm unable to control. The plethora of queens and twos in my hand are blurred.

Jane, ever the detective, immediately notices that something is wrong. Putting her cards down, she reaches for me. "Hey, sweetie, it's okay." She murmurs as she pulls me into a hug. "Nothing's gonna happen, I promise."

I bury my head into her shoulder and don't care what Frost and Korsak think. All I need right now is to be sure that Jane will be fine.

"Excuse me." A soft voice interrupts and I pull back from Jane and wipe my eyes. A nurse is standing in the doorway with a beautiful arrangement of flowers. "Detective, these came for you."

"Thank you." Jane's voice husks out. "You can put them on the bureau." The nurse does, and quickly leaves.

"Jane, these are gorgeous." I cross over to the flowers, eager to leave the uncomfortable moment behind. Touching the soft petals, I admire the quality and freshness of the flowers.

"Stop analyzing them and read who they are from." Jane jokes and I spy the card. I groan inwardly, unsure how I will respond if they are from agent Dean or any other of Jane's suitors. I know that I should not be jealous, as Jane has had the opportunity to become involved with a number of men over the past few years. However, Jealousy is a natural human emotion which is normally seen as a protective reaction to a perceived threat to a valued relationship.

I open the card and read.

"Sorry to hear about your trouble. Hope you are feeling better. The loose ends have been taken care of. Tell my daughter that "there are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle."

Regards,

Mr. Selsi"

It is an Albert Einstein quote. My throat goes dry and I am unable to speak. My eyes widen as I look at Jane, and am even more surprised to see the lack of surprise in Jane's eyes. She knew; Frost and Korsak knew, Christ, they all knew it was my father that committed the Seaport Hotel Garage murders.

"You okay?" Jane asks and I nod numbly.

She pats the side of the bed. "C'mon, sit back down with us and kick our butts at poker, will ya?"

I sit, picking up my cards and attempt to concentrate. Jane continues to explain the rules of the game and we all attempt to maintain a sense of normalcy.

I place my cards down. "This is called a 'Full House', correct? Queens and twos?"

The boys throw their cards down in disgust as Jane laughs. She pulls me to her side again. "When I get out of here, you & I are going to Vegas!" She places a quick kiss to my cheek and I feel my face redden.

Korsak looks at Frost who shrugs.

"Hey." Jane says sharply, looking between her current and ex partners. She doesn't release her grip on my side. "Maura is with me from now on, got it? Take care of her like you would me, and I don't want to hear any shit about it."

"I'm happy for you." Frost states quietly. He smiles for the first time since his arrival and shuffles the deck. "I must have not shuffled enough." He mutters, almost to himself.

"Yeah, I mean, we knew." Korsak adds quickly. "No surprises here."

I stay snuggled up against Jane's side, and decline being dealt in for the next hand. I'd rather watch them enjoy their game and feel the warmth of Jane against me.


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you think my father meant with that quote?" I ask Jane as I take my frustration out on the carrots I am chopping.

"I don't know. You're the scientist, Maur. Figure it out." Jane mutters, clearly cross.

I glance at her, surprised by her tone and she looks at me with pained eyes. She was released just a few hours ago, and I think she was expecting to feel better as soon as she left the hospital. My detective is not a good patient, and I have come to realize over the years that the more I try to influence her actions, the more determined she is to do the opposite. Her gruff attitude began when I insisted she sit and relax while I prepared us dinner. Relaxation is incredibly important for healing, and numerous studies have shown that people who are able to relax, meditate, and do calming exercises lead a much more productive and fulfilling life than those who allow their stress to overload. Jane became clearly annoyed when I mentioned we needed to work on her ability to relax.

"I'm sorry." She sighs, twisting her hands in her long-sleeved t-shirt. I love this shirt on her, its original navy color has faded into a soft blue and the "Boston PD" white lettering chipped and cracked. I specifically packed this shirt for her because I've noticed she tends to wear it when she doesn't feel well. She chose it from all the others I brought to the hospital for her to wear upon her release.

"It's understandable." I respond and turn my attention back to the carrots.

"No, it's not." Jane states. "I'm being an ass." I feel her cross across the kitchen and stand at my back. I lower my shoulders and look back over my shoulder at her as in invitation, and she slips her arms around my waist and buries her face in my neck.

"I'm sorry." She says again, and I cease my assault on the carrots and turn in her arms. Careful not to put any pressure on her surgical wound, I cross my arms around her back and rest my head on her shoulder.

"Can't we just stay like this?" Jane husks into my ear. "I don't want to think anymore." She sighs and pulls me closer. I'm aware of my torso pressed tightly to hers and understand that it must be very uncomfortable for her. I try to pull back, but she will not let me. "Don't care." She murmurs into my ear. "Having you this close is worth it."

My mind wanders as I am lost in the sanctity of her arms. It would be fascinating to do a study on how my mind processes and functions when Jane is physically close to me. Always clinging to my facts, I seem to be unable to recall any statistics or informative data when she is touching me. I only seem to be able to feel in the present. It is disarming, frightening, and wonderful all at the same time. I finally feel as if I have a glimpse into how "normal" people function. I realize now what I have been missing out, and finally feel as if I fit into normal society.

Every other date I have been on, I have spent the time diagnosing and analyzing the person I was with instead of processing how they made me feel. Even my serious relationships had a "pro" and "con" list to them, and I always made certain the cons won out. I can't seem to do that with Jane, even though the doctor in me knows right now that she should not be putting any pressure on her wound. The lover in me doesn't care. I know Jane needs the feel of me against her, needs the comfort of my touch, and that the realization that I am here and we are together will heal her faster than conventional medicine could dare hope.

What is happening to me?

"Maur." Jane husks in my ear.

"Mm?" I respond, trying to clear my head and grasp onto something other than the very essence of Jane. I am not accustomed to this feeling of, well,_ feeling_; as opposed to rational logic and thought.

"Come to bed with me." Jane breathes on my neck, sending cutis anserina, more commonly known as "goosebumps" down my arms. My brain frantically tries to stay in control over my body, and I grasp at any fact I can remember. The Pilomotor reflex causes the bumps at the base of body hair as a result of sexual arousal, fear, cold, or any other strong emotion. They are commonly seen on the forearms, legs, and neck.

"Mm?" I repeat as I stubbornly try to cling to some control. The base of each hair is called the arrectores pilorum and will contract or become erect; piloerection, in reflex to a signal from the sympathetic nervous system which controls the "fight-or-flight" response in mammals.

"I said, come to bed with me." Jane's voice drops oh-so low. She runs her hands so slowly down my back and over my hips, teasing her way up to lightly trace the side of my breasts. "I need you." She breathes in my ear and I am almost undone.

My mind scrambles, facts coming so quickly that my thoughts are running together.

Piloerection as a response to cold or emotion is vestigial in humans as we retain only very little body hair, the reflex now provides no known benefit it is also a classic symptom of some diseases, such as temporal lobe epilepsy, some brain tumors, and autonomic hyperreflexia cutis anserina can also be caused by withdrawal from opiates such as heroin.

As I complete my list of cutis anserine facts, my mind grabs onto another thought: why am I loathing relinquishing control? I trust Jane. I have never felt in this way before and the unfamiliar territory is uncomfortable in its newness. What if I hurt Jane? What if I can't satisfy her? What if she is just clinging to me as a lifeline and once she is healed leaves me? What if we lose our friendship? She's the only friend I've ever had.

With that last thought, my mind sputters and dies, like an old Ford stranded on the side of the road. I valiantly try to turn the engine over, but to no avail. Precipitously, without warning, my mind switches gears.

I've spent days trying to piece together the note from my father to Jane. He clearly had a message for me, he told Jane to "tell his daughter…"There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle." Why would a man, such as my father, memorize an Einstein quote? What did it mean to him?

It is suddenly made clear to me. Einstein was possibly the greatest scientist who ever lived. He was the master of physics, yet also had a clear grasp on socialism and human interaction. How is it possible for someone with his intelligence to be able to focus on fats and emotions interchangeably?

Jane is alive and here with me. She loves me, and wants to make love with me. I cannot predict what will happen in the future. I can only live for right now and enjoy this miracle to its fullest.

"I need you, too." I respond honestly, and truer words were never spoken.

Jane pulls away from our embrace, her dark eyes smoldering and her face flushed. She gently takes my hand and we walk, as equals, to my bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

_Okay, I'm NOT one for songfic, but I have to admit that after Chapter 6 I was a little unsure of how to proceed. While driving to work one day, I had my Ipod on shuffle and Antigone Rising's cover of the PushStars song "Sofkuri's Room" came on. It was enough to inspire this chapter. If you're unfamiliar with this song, I highly suggest looking it up – it's worth it. And I'm borrowing a few lines from the lyrics, so don't sue me. Lastly, thank you for the reviews. I can't believe how many of you are following this little story. Thanks & Merry Christmas!_

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I become bashful when we arrive in my bedroom, and swallow audibly as I drop Jane's hand. "Jane," I begin, uncertain if this will be conducive to her healing process. I realize this is just a ruse on my behalf; as I am certain I will be able to make love to Jane without hurting her. It has been proven time and time again that sex can release endorphins which will benefit the healing process. In fact, Chinese Taoist followers believe sex can heal by setting up an exchange of subtle nurturing energy, which occurs naturally between the polar opposites of yin and yang.

I sigh and shake my head sadly. I'm doing it again. I'm desperate to explain myself to Jane, but before I can speak a word I feel her arms on my shoulders, spinning me around to face her.

"Maur." She practically growls, and I feel my stomach flutter involuntarily. I'm too lost in the beautiful depths of her eyes to explain the physical process my body is going through at this time. I swallow audibly, my eyes wide.

"I know you're getting lost inside of your head." Jane tells me softly, her eyes luminous in the low light. "But I need you present with me." She tightens her grip on my shoulders. "Listen, I've never done this before, okay? So I can't make any promises. But I want you in the worst way right now." Her last sentence is spoken so low, so gravelly, that I shudder despite myself. "Can you stop spinning your wheels and be here with me?"

"Yes." I whisper. I cannot resist her, could never say no to her, and will give her anything she wants.

Giving me an almost feral grin, she looks wolfish in the oncoming dusk. I feel that despite her warnings that this is new territory for her, I will enjoy her attention very much.

Silently, I pull the curtains closed, leaving the room bathed in darkness except for the blue light shining in from the top of the half-moon window. Combined with the soft filtered light from the hall, I can easily see the desire on Jane's face while her hands are hidden in shadows.

Normally, to heighten a romantic interlude, I would put on music, light candles, and change into something lacy. However, I don't need to do that with Jane. I don't have to "set the mood". Put her and I into a room together and the mood sets itself.

Her eyes, part coal and part diamonds, watch my every move. Ever the detective, she studies me. Normally, this type of attention would leave me feeling unsettled. However, Jane never makes me feel judged, and I have quickly become dependent on the calm acceptance she grants me on a daily basis. She sits quietly on the corner of my bed waiting for me; asking nothing yet asking everything.

Crossing to her, I press her head into my chest and wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Why is your heart beating so fast?" She asks softly.

"Because I'm excited." I respond, leaning down to place a kiss to her ear. "You excite me."

"I do?" Jane questions, her voice suddenly hesitant. She buries her head into my chest further. Mumbling, she continues. "I don't know what to do. I've never done this before."

I surprise the both of us, and give her a low throaty laugh. "Ah, but I have. Just follow my lead."

Leaning down to kiss her, she sighs with happiness into my mouth. I instantly feel weak in the knees as our kiss deepens and I tangle my hands in her long hair.

Kissing Jane results in my body reacting in a way that even the most diligent scientist inside my brain could never quite decipher. She is warm and wet and soft and hard, all at once. And her tongue, God, her tongue. Jane has the ability to make me lose track of all rational thought. I am not familiar with this and although I would like to continue and allow myself to get lost in her, I can't seem to get over the last lingering notion that I must maintain control over my feelings.

"Maura." She growls, breaking away from my mouth for a second. I whimper and reach for her with my lips. "Stay present with me." She orders, and I numbly nod my head.

"How did you know?" I whisper, startled at the intensity of her gaze in the low light.

She smiles sweetly; softly, and looks decidedly more feminine than I've ever seen her. The tough detective I see at work is gone, no trace of her in the glittering eyes of my lover sitting on my bed. "I know you." She reaches up to touch my face and I turn to gently kiss her fingertips.

"I love you."

Her smile in response to my statement is brilliant. Winding her hands behind my back, she demandingly pulls me down to sit on her lap. "You fit." She responds, as she runs her strong hands over my entire body. "I never imagined you'd fit against me so well." I keep quiet, lost in the beauty of her eyes as she more confidently explores my body. She seems fascinated by the way my reacts to her touch and her glittering eyes follow the movement of her hands.

"Will you lie down for me?" She husks, and I gently remove myself from her embrace and comply with her wish. "I just need to look at you."

I could not feel more vulnerable as her eyes roam my body, followed by exploring hands. She strokes the length of my arm, teases the side of my breast, lingers on the curve of my waist, and draws circles on my hip. She repeats the process over and over, as if she is in a trance. Even though I am still fully clothed, I feel as exposed as I ever have been. Obviously, from Jane's statements, she's never been with a woman before. She may find that lesbian sex is not as enjoyable for her as intercourse with a man. Although I have had a few female partners that I have enjoyed, I cannot predict what Jane's comfort level with the female body will be.

"Beautiful." She husks, her eyes drawing up to meet mine. The sheer amount of desire found in her gaze is overwhelming, and I have the instant feeling that I am about to be consumed.

Jane gently lies herself on top of me and initiates the most passionate kiss I've ever experienced. "My side is fine, Maura. And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on." She groans into my mouth, and for a split second, I being to analyze how it's possible Jane can suddenly read my mind.

Then I feel her long fingers tease the inside of my thigh and all further thought is overcome by desire.

"Yes." I whisper into her mouth as she slides her lips down my neck, nipping and gently biting. She tentatively strokes my breast while her other hand tangles itself in my hair. I arch my back to push myself more firmly into her and wrap my hands boldly around her biceps.

I love to feel her slender strength. Her athletic body is the combination of hard work and good genes, and I can't believe that she is mine.

She lets out a hiss in my ear as she feels my nipple on her palm. "God, Maur." She groans, grinding herself into me. "You feel amazing."

Her hair, raven black and blue in the moonlight, falls onto my chest and neck. Her eyes glitter like the most perfect cut of diamond as they bore into mine. Her hand becomes bolder, alternating with squeezing my breast to teasing my nipple and her hips seek out contact with my thigh as she starts a lazy rhythm.

"Off." I tug at her shirt. I am reduced to one syllable words now, but could care less.

Jane carefully sits up and trying to hide her grimace, takes off her shirt. She is porcelain bathed in moonlight and as she shakes her hair into place she looks like a lioness, regal and calm.

The stark white of her bandage is a contrast to the dark room. My fingers trace it lightly, and she reaches down to clasp my hand in hers.

"I'm fine." She says firmly, her gravelly voice strong. "We'll be careful."

I nod. I've seen her body before, we always change in the locker room before and after Yoga, but have never had the experience of tracing her sculpted abdominal muscles. My breathing hitches and I can feel my eyes hooded in desire as I gaze at her impressive torso. Sitting up, I trace her lightly with my fingers, enjoying seeing her muscles jump under my touch. I can't ignore Jane's hiss of pain, however, when I find a particular sensitive spot and she tenses in response.

I stop my caress, my eyes wide. "I'm sorry."

Jane grabs my hand decisively. "I'm." She leans down to kiss me so deeply I swear I feel my head start to spin. "Fine." She states gruffly. "Your turn."

My expensive blouse is off before I try to remove it. Jane tosses is across the room and her gaze feast on my chest. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She says, licking her lips and grinning at me.

I am in over my head, drowning in Jane, and completely out of control. I don't care. My last bit of resolve breaks when I see the fire in her eyes and I crash into her, my hands roaming exposed skin.

We duel for control, and I finally give into Jane as she claims my neck with her mouth and teeth. This is not at all what I imagined; I had just assumed Jane had never been with another woman and would need slow and gentle guidance in order to feel assured. Instead, she has taken full control and her confidence is so very sexy. Fucking sexy, to be exact.

'Language, Maura.' I tell myself, wondering how Jane would react if I told her just exactly how sexy I thought she was. Hmm, this may be a fun experiment that I may have to try sometime.

Her tongue slides down my neck, over my chest, and to my ample cleavage. Jane pulls back and bIows lightly on my damp skin, causing a shiver thermogenesis in response on my skin. I rumble in her ear and the pressure on my neck from her teeth increases. Her hands rest on the waistband of my skirt and she struggles with the side zipper. After a few unsuccessful attempts to get it off, she growls in frustration and pulls it up over my hips.

I grab her hands and place them on my breasts, enjoying her hum of approval. They keep her entertained enough for me to slide my panties and hose off, and I resume my place of kneeling in front of her. Jane effortlessly pulls her bra off and gently reaches behind me to unclasp mine.

We melt together, our lips meeting in another crashing kiss, breasts pressed firmly together, and Jane's bandage scratching into my side.

"You fit." She pants in my ear, her fingers rolling my nipples in between. I've always admired her hands, those of a classical pianist, strong hands with long fingers. I shudder when I imagine how those fingers will feel inside of me, and Jane uses that opportunity to claim the other side of my neck.

She still has her jeans on, and my fingers deftly undo each button. Knowing it will pain her to shimmy them down her hips, I grab each side of the denim and give one firm yank, moaning my approval when they slide easily down her slim hips followed quickly by her adorable boy shorts. My mouth ventures down to take a firm nipple in my mouth as she runs long, teasing fingers up and down my thigh.

"Please." I whisper around her breast, open my legs and am instantly rewarded with her fingers on me. Jane hisses with approval as she feels my wetness and wraps her other arm firmly around my waist.

"Maur." She speaks my name reverently, pleadingly, gracefully, and I know what she wants. I gently explore her, feeling even more excited when I feel her wetness pool on my hand.

We share an inexplicable moment, where our fingers stop gliding through each other and stall, content to be anchored in a calm sea. Her eyes meet mine, and although she opens her mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

Something passes between us then, my chest heaves as I pant open-mouthed. She is calm, serene even, her olive skin lit from behind and her hair cascading down her shoulders. Her small breasts sit proudly high, small nipples pert, and she looks like a goddess. Too beautiful to be true, and too perfect to be mine.

"Maura." Her voice is guttural and I shiver. Her fingers twitch involuntarily and I shudder with anticipation. Her mouth opens and closes again, and I am desperate for her to say what she needs to say.

"What is it?" I pant, hoping to convey my desperation for her to continue touching me.

She shakes her head from side to side, as if she's unsure what to say. My fingers start to rub her again, and I am met with a low groan. She pushes herself into my hand and my two fingers disappear inside of her. She is velvet. She mirrors my actions and grunts with satisfaction as her fingers slip inside of me. Her head lolls onto my shoulder and her free hand pulls me closer.

We start an easy rhythm, neither of us fighting for control, but content to work together. Jane lifts her head to meet my eyes and I can only imagine the picture we are making. Both of us kneeling on my bed, face to face, our eyes locked. We are so close, I can hear her heartbeat loud in my ears.

Her lips are parted and she pants faster, Jane's chocolate eyes never break from mine. Her top lip quivers, and I ache to kiss it, but can't bring myself to stop gazing at her.

We move together, in sync, without any words. There is nothing to be said, Jane's eyes tell me everything I need to know. She is not claiming me, nor I her. For the first time in my life, I understand the term "making love." I've scoffed at it so many times before, understanding and believing that sexual encounters are a means to an end and a natural way to express desire.

Stop being so clinical. I chastise internally, asking myself instead how I feel. The answer surprises me.

I feel like Jane's soul has climbed into mine.

We move faster, clinging to each other desperately. Her skin sticks to mine like the salt from the sea. I toss and turn like a boat ashore, but am grounded by the light and dark of her eyes.

She is ready. Moving my thumb deftly, I apply pressure where she needs it the most. She doesn't make a sound, but I can tell from how her face tenses that this is what she needs.

"Maurrrrraa…" Jane drawls out as she pulls me impossibly closer to her. "Please." Her last request comes out as a choked sob. I increase the pressure with my hand and murmur when she mimics my actions. She is so strong and I can't hold back any longer when she increases her thrusts inside of me. My orgasm builds quickly and is so strong it takes me by surprise.

I gasp in disbelief from the sensation of her and lose my balance, falling back onto my bed. Jane gracefully follows me, never breaking our contact. Balancing on her arm, she moves her hand faster inside of me and peppers my neck with kisses.

"Promise me you won't ever leave me." I cry out to her, feeling foolish but unable to control myself.

"Never." She grunts, her hair swaying above me from her exertions. Jane maintains her pace as I writhe under her, forcing my hand deeper inside of her. This is the last straw for her, and I feel her clench and tremor around me.

Gritting her teeth, her head drops to my shoulder as we race to the edge and crawl back together. Lying in each other's arms, our hands finally still and we cling to each other desperately.

I don't move for the longest time, unable to meet her gaze. I'm mortified by my orgasm-induced confession. My resolve to prohibit clinical thoughts swiftly crumbles and I frantically think of what I can say to fix the situation.

"Does your brain have an off switch?" Jane mumbles, her face pressed against my shoulder. She slowly raises her head, her mahogany locks adorably tousled and intense molten eyes.

My face flushes and I feel more exposed than fifteen minutes prior when Jane was exploring every inch of my body.

"Seriously, Maur. And you say I can't relax?" She smiles to show me that she is only teasing. "We're okay." Growing serious, she leans down to place a soft kiss on my nose.

My eyes move back and forth, searching hers for any sign of anxiety or worry about my request for undying devotion. I find none, just an honest and quiet calm on my detective's face.

I give her a tentative smile and am rewarded by an even bigger one from her. She gently leans forward to nuzzle my nose from side to side.

I've never been eskimo kissed before. I wonder if Jane is aware the action is based on a traditional Inuit greeting called a kunik which is used to express affection, usually between family members and loved ones. I'm sure it's of no interest to her.

Her twinkling eyes tell me she knows what I am thinking. I'm glad she seems to find my quirks amusing.

The silence is comfortable, as if we have done this many times before. My skirt is rumpled up high on my waist and probably wrinkled beyond recognition, but it doesn't matter. I gently trace the lines of Jane's face with my hand as she takes a possessive hold around my waist. She is so beautiful.

"So, wait till I tell me mother what a lousy hostess you are." Jane states seriously, breaking the comfortable silence as we lie entwined, our heart rates slowly returning to normal. She carefully rolls off of me and onto her back and I can tell by the languid position of her body that she is feeling little pain due to her injury.

I furrow my brow and tilt my head, unsure as to what she is insinuating.

"You invited me to stay here, and then whisk me off to bed to take advantage of me without even feeding me supper." She reaches a long arm down to rest on her stomach. Patting it sympathetically, she glances at me out of the corner of her eyes.

I realize that we abandoned our dinner.

"Well, I didn't hear you complaining a few minutes ago." I tease back, slowly sitting up in bed and rolling my neck from side to side in order to align everything. I can feel Jane's gaze burning through my back and I give her a fleeting look from over my shoulder. The burning in her dark eyes causes me to flush and become excited all over again.

Like a cat batting at a string, Jane paws at me and attempts to pull me back down to her. "Oh no you don't." I avoid her hands and stand up, giving her a full view. "You need dinner, remember?"

"Maur." She purrs, low and rumbling in her chest, "Get back here."

I remove my crumpled skirt and shoulder on a short robe, tying it decisively across my chest. I give her a wide smile – she is all lioness, long and lean while sprawled across my bed. She is everything – beauty and power in one, with a delicious femininity that cannot be denied. I am quite a lucky woman.

"C'mon, tiger." I extend a hand to her, bracing myself in case she tries to pull me back down to her. Predictably she does, but I hold my ground. "Dinner, and then bed."

"Dinner in bed?" Jane asks, her dark eyes hopeful.

I nod, always up for a good compromise. "Anything you'd like."

She gets to her feet carefully and shrugs on her clothes. "I like the sound of that." She pulls me down for a long and lingering kiss that speaks of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

"I want my dog back." Jane's low voice murmurs, her face buried in my shoulder. My eyes slowly open, adjusting to the morning light. I am held securely from behind, Jane's strong arm wrapped around my stomach.

"Sorry to wake you." She continues, placing a sweet kiss on my trapezius muscle. "It's just weird not waking up to a cold little nose in my ear."

Chuckling, I carefully turn in her arms to face her. "My nose isn't cold." I tell her, mock seriousness on my face. "But I can stick it in your ear if you want me too."

"I'll pass." Jane smiles widely, looking blissfully happy and content. Her eyes avert mine and for a moment she is bashful. "Hi."

"Good morning." I respond, content to bask in her radiance. The morning light sets her hair afire, highlighting the mahogany strands lying dormant in her chocolate locks.

She leans forward to press a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth. "How come you didn't give me a lesson on why dog noses are cold?" Jane asks seriously. "You feeling okay?"

I furrow my brow for a moment, unsure as how to answer her. Opting for the truth, I explain cautiously. "When I'm not comfortable in a social situation I tend to focus on fact and statistics in order to be involved in the conversation."

Jane is listening patiently, her dark eyes intent. When I pause, she widens her eyes and subtly juts her head forward, indicating that I should continue.

"I feel comfortable with science and logic. I don't feel comfortable with people." I sigh softly.

"But you feel comfortable with me?" Jane asks, almost childlike.

"Oh yes, very comfortable." I sigh as I snuggle closer into her arms.

Hours later we manage to get dressed, eat a late breakfast, and after a minor disagreement over Jane's wound care, she finally begrudgingly allows me to change her bandage. When I likened the experience of caring for her to squeezing my foot into a size 5 shoe, she looked at me blankly until I explained that I wore a size 7 and a half. She's absolutely difficult at times, which is one of the many things I adore about her.

She is sitting on my couch now, a pout evident on her angular face as she silently flips through the television channels. Jane is cranky this morning, and I'm not exactly sure why. She seemed to enjoy last night, and was incredibly sweet and tender this morning.

Self-doubt begins to creep into my system, flooding me with insecurity. Is Jane having second thoughts about our physical relationship? Has she decided she'd prefer to sleep with men? Is she regretting staying here with me? Does she want to return to her own apartment so soon?

My detective sighs loudly and tosses the remote down onto the couch. "Come here." She demands, reaching out one long toward me. I remain in place, doubtful of her intentions.

"C'mon, Maur." She pleads gruffly, and her eyes implore mine to comply. "My side frigging hurts. Don't make me get up to drag you over here."

Unable to deny her anything, I cross over to her and sit gently on the other end of the couch. "Can I get you something for the pain?" I ask carefully, resisting the urge to fuss over her. "Are you feeling worse than yesterday?"

She waves her hand, dismissing her pain. "I'm fine. It's just annoying. I hate sitting still and there's so much I want to do rather than be sitting here like an invalid."

"Jane." I soothe, grabbing her hands to stop her from fussing with the couch pillows. "You are not an invalid. You are making a very fast recovery from a life-threatening situation and emergency surgery. Your progress to make a full recovery will only be hastened by your willingness to cooperate with your doctor's wishes to remain as relaxed as possible."

"I know." She huffs, clearly annoyed. Glancing at me, her intense eyes study my face. I self-consciously look away, directing my attention to the ridiculous farce of a game show on the television. The notion of an adult being less intelligent than a 5th grader is absurd. Of course, by the time I was in 5th grade I was already quite accomplished in several subjects.

Jane's gentle hand on my face draws my attention away from the show. "Hey." She breathes, softly. "Are you okay?"

I give her my best smile, but it wavers. "Yes." I squeak out, and then instantly regret it. "No." I shake my head firmly. "I'm not okay."

"Whassa matter?" Jane's voice is soft and she reaches out to grab both of my hands. "Are you regretting last night?"

"No!" I almost shout. "But you're so cranky so I assumed that you were. I don't know if you found sex with a woman pleasing enough to fulfill you and I expect you to tell me that you are leaving for your apartment at any time."

"Whoa!" Jane responds, letting go of my hands and holding hers up defensively. "You're nuts." She smiles widely to let me know that she is joking. "First of all, I'm cranky because I blew a hole in my side and it's sore. And I want to be doing fun things with you, not bumming around here feeling sorry for myself. Secondly, you couldn't have fulfilled me more. I don't in any way regret anything between us. Lastly, I'm not leaving you, ever." She quiets, her eyes darting back and forth. "Did I forget anything?"

Relieved, I shake my head. "No, you covered everything."

"C'mere." Jane leans back against the couch and pulls me into her warm embrace. "You're the smartest person I know." She breathes into my ear. "So why don't you use that big brain of yours to make yourself believe that you & I are in this together, okay?"

I turn slightly to meet her gaze. She is so beautiful that she takes my breath away.

So this is what it feels like to be consumed by someone else. To have someone else hold your defenseless heart in their hands, so to speak. I feel utterly powerless and weightless, but am grounded by Jane's solid embrace.

It is dizzyingly terrifying and exciting all at once.

"I'm not good at communicating either." Jane continues, and her gravelly voice is like heaven in my ears. "But I promise to try." She pauses, softly clearing her throat. "Deal?"

"Deal." I agree, linking my hand with hers. I am unsure as to how she knows what I need to hear when I need to hear it, but am grateful for it all the same.

We sit for several minutes in comfortable silence, until I can feel Jane tense beside me. Glancing at her, I find she is averting her eyes, and is worrying at the side of her mouth.

"I thought you were dead." The sentence, spoken softly, takes me by surprise. I didn't expect to say it out loud and it takes me several seconds to realize that I did not speak the sentence that has sat on the tip of my tongue, figuratively, of course, since the shooting. Jane looks at me with haunted eyes, and repeats herself. "I thought you were dead."

"Me?" I question, utterly confused. "I don't understand."

Jane tightens her hands around mine, making her scars whiten with the effort. She has so many scars, too many, for a woman so beautiful. Yet she wears each one proudly, like a mile marker; a testament to time passed.

"When Bobby had the gun on me. Frost and Korsak were there. I tried to tell them about Frankie being hurt." She stops, lifting one hand to roughly wipe her eyes. She is crying, suddenly, without warning and I am powerless to stop her pain.

Her grief-stricken eyes meet mine. "He said you were probably already dead." She stops speaking, and suddenly regains her composure. Her strength is overwhelming to me – despite all of the turmoil she has gone through, she manages to find inner strength and the ability to prevail. She is the most incredible person I've had the pleasure of knowing. Perhaps she doesn't need the tranquility and relaxation benefits that Yoga provides.

Chastising myself for trying to escape during this monumental time, I focus doggedly on what she is trying to tell me.

Her eyes are strong now, glittering with unshed tears and the determination to explain her feelings. "When he said you were probably already dead, I panicked. I couldn't imagine losing both you and Frankie." Clearing her throat softly, she releases the tight grip on my hands. "Is it awful that I thought about you dying first?"

Not waiting for me to answer, she continues. "I love my brother. But it was the thought of losing you that made me just not give a fuck anymore. I wanted to stop Bobby as fast as I could, and it was the only way I knew how."

"Oh." I breathe. It is not until I see water spots on my linen shirt that I realize I am crying.

"When I was lying there on the sidewalk, bleeding. I saw you above me. You were wearing that red and white dress and your hair was highlighted by the sun. You looked like an angel. You were telling me to stay with you, and I thought I was dead. Then I realized that if I was dead, that it shouldn't hurt like hell and you shouldn't look so worried." She offers me a small smile, her eyes brimming with tears. "I decided right there, that I couldn't die because you were okay. And I knew that if you were okay, that Frankie was too. I knew you'd take care of him."

I nod silently.

"So, that's why I did it. I know you've wanted to ask, and I'm sure as hell everyone wants to know. I doubt I'll be cleared for duty again until several sessions of soul searching with the headcase doc, and everyone this side of the Charles is going to be up my ass about this, so I thought I might as well tell you first."

She shakes her head quickly to the side, and regains her normal sarcastic persona. "So, now we can be the typical cliché lesbian couple; I'd rather die than live without you while you sit and wait by my bedside. We declare undying love; boink each other – several times, I may add - and live happily ever after."

I can't contain my laughter. "Boink?" I sputter between giggles.

She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Yeah, you know. Do the big shebang, get her done, screw like bunny rabbits, etcetera."

"Thank you for clarifying." I finally am able to reign in my laughter and gaze at her adoringly. "And thank you for telling me. I knew you would when you were ready." I can't help when my features turn solemn, and I know Jane will immediately pick up on my change in emotions.

"Uh oh." Jane begins. "Serious Maura face." She cocks her head. "What's up?"

My eyes dart nervously to each side. "I'm concerned about so many things interfering with our relationship. Work, our families, our friends, and I'm not sure the best way to approach these obstacles productively and efficiently."

I'm shocked when Jane laughs loudly rather than appear troubled about my concerns.

Agitated, I try to clarify my sentence. "Jane, there have got to be repercussions about us having a personal relationship and a working relationship. It's not professional to be mooning over each other while we are discussing a case."

"Um, Maur? I hate to break this to you, but I've been 'mooning' over for you for months." Using her hands to make quotation marks over mooning, I can't help but shudder at the memory of those long and talented fingers inside me. "We used to have sleepovers. We'll just do the same thing now, except we won't sleep." She grins at me again, slyly, causing me to blush.

"C'mon." She chides me gently. "You really think we can't handle this?"

Her presence is calming, and my fears are gradually erased. "You're right."

"I know." She is smug. In a teasing tone, she taunts, "I'm smarter than Maura…."

I know exactly how to wipe that smug grin off of her face. "What about your mother?" I ask innocently, and as predicted, the smile vanishes from her visage.

"Shit." She runs a hand through her mussed hair. "She'll deal with it. Plain and simple." Turning a menacing eye on me, she studies my face. "You did that on purpose!"

I can't get anything past her, and I once again burst into laughter. Pulling me into her embrace, I settle comfortably. Certain of our ability to endure almost anything, I try to concentrate on the feel of Jane's long arms wrapped around me, and the strength of her heart beating in my ear.

The nagging concerns of my father 'cleaning up the mess', Jane's difficult mother, and the trivial concerns of those we work with gradually trickle down into my consciousness, content to settle and wait to be dealt with on another day.

Now, I have everything I need.

* * *

Finis.

Well, it's been a long road, and I'm grateful to those of you who have read until the end. I am working on a sequel and have several parts completed. Make sure you add me to your author alerts so you don't miss it once it's published!

Thanks again for reading – I hope that 2011 brings you everything you could ask for!


	9. Sequel to Primum non nochere  Intueri

Thank you to everyone who followed my first story and took the time to review it. If you haven't read Primum non nocere, you should. It can be found on this site. Read it first, as this won't make sense if you don't.

Now, onward.

* * *

Walking stiffly down the corridor, I hear a faint noise behind me, audible over the muffled clicks of my heels on the scuffed vinyl floor.

A glance over my shoulder shows nothing out of the ordinary and I chastise myself for being so hyper vigilant. Lately, I have understood how a gazella thomsonni, more commonly known as a Thomson's gazelle, must feel. The most common gazelle to roam the African plains, it is an exceptionally alert creature both to sound and movement. This constant state of hyper vigilance assists the gazelle in its daily fight against its main predators, including cheetahs, leopards, lions, and hyenas.

However, I am not a prey animal being stalked by something hidden in the grass. While hyper vigilance can certainly be helpful in a life or death situation, I have no time for it in my daily life. Work has been increasingly busy, as the quickly approaching holiday season always results in a spiked increase in the number of family-related violence and suicides.

I have also had more than my fair share of motor vehicle versus cyclist related tragedies. The lovely weather of Boston's spring and summer season encourage motorists to leave their cars at home and venture to work on bicycles. However, Boston streets are not designed with bike paths. Biking around the city, especially during rush hour, is quite dangerous. Factor in our typical rainy fall weather, with slippery leaves now clogging the roadways and less than optimal visibility during the evening commute and the results are downright deadly. For the cyclists, that is. Traumatic, but non-life-threatening for the motorist.

Perhaps it is the increase in number of bodies to examine combined with the general fatigue I am feeling due to the extended work hours has resulted me feeling more on edge than usual. Or, it could be the fact that I have had the peculiar notion that someone may be following me.

I'm not sure how else to explain it. I haven't seen some dark figure lurking in the shadows, or received any threats. Still, as I make my way to the elevator, my hand tightens on the grip of my pepper spray hidden in the pocket of my coat.

Jane laughed at me when I told her I applied for a permit to carry the spray, as she could have just given me a bottle with no questions asked. I understand that studies have shown that it is useless in some attacks; and it doesn't necessarily make me feel any safer, but lately I've kept it at the ready religiously whenever I'm alone.

I know Jane wonders why I've been so jumpy lately, and I wish I had an explanation myself. I can't seem to shake the feeling that something is out of the ordinary –it's just a feeling I have had.

Intuition. It's something I never allowed myself to feel. Intuition often defies logic, which never made sense to me. Nothing can defy logic. The notion that something could is contradictory to the definition of logic itself.

Before Jane, I was practically married to logic, metaphorically speaking – of course. However, the more time I spend with her, the more I am fascinated by the way she allows her intuition to play a major role in both her professional and personal life. She is able to hone into her intuition to solve cases quicker and more effectively than other detectives, as well as read my moods and counterbalance them to maintain order in our home.

I have been trying to explore my own intuition. It is not an easy process for me; I tend to overthink things so much that I am left with a snippet of intuition that is most certainly influenced by logic. However, I am making progress.

As I reach the elevator, I catch a glimpse of Dr. Welch in his office across the hall. He bent over his desk, scrawling on what seems like an endless stack of paperwork. He will surely work until darkness falls tonight, and most likely through the weekend. If he was better able to manage his time instead of ogling his new assistant, he's surely would have been able to finish his case load by this evening.

Internally, I chant what I know about intuition as I enter the elevator.

Intuition is used to describe anything that comes to mind quickly, without much reflection. Taken from the Latin word 'intueri', which translates "to look inside or contemplate," intuition is often a belief or thought that we cannot justify. Henceforth, intuition has been the subject of study in psychology, been accredited to innovation in scientific discoveries, as well as a topic of interest in the supernatural.

I hear another noise, this time closer. It sounds like slap of a finely-crafted boot heel hitting the floor.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. The medical professional inside of my brain explains that it is a natural reaction of the sympathetic nervous system and is triggered an environmental or emotional stressor – the "fight or flight response," so to speak.

Clearly, I am being irrational. I have no logical reason to suspect anyone is actually following me and I am undoubtedly overreacting to hearing a noise in the hallway.

Still, I cannot prevent my hand from tightening around the pepper spray and, much to my horror, I watch myself bring it out of my pocket, flip off the safety switch and am it at the open elevator doors.

No one appears. Sighing in relief, my trembling hand finally submits to my control and securely latches the spray before dropping it back into my pocket.

The soft thud it makes at it hits the bottom of my coat resonates loudly in my ears. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life, and I am glad that no one else observed my foolish actions.

I stand there with the doors open for several seconds, frozen with both embarrassment and relief. It then registers to me that in the reflection of Dr. Welch's office window there is indeed a woman standing in the hallway just outside the elevator doors; out of my range of visibility from inside the elevator car.

Rationally, I know that I should call out to her as ask her if she's getting in. Instead, I hit the "Door Close" button over and over, at first gently, but the elevator doesn't comply. I frantically jam the button until the doors finally lumber shut.

Closing my eyes, I swallow. Exhaling, I am surprised to feel my chest tighten and tears instantly well in my eyes. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I urge the elevator to reach the third floor, and Jane.

Who is she? From her reflection, I noticed that she's in her mid-to-late 50's and was dressed impeccably. Stylish leather boots, slim-fitting Vera Wang trousers, and a Burberry trench coat a few shades darker than the one I have slung over my arm.

I wasn't able to get a good look at her face, as even in my hyper vigilant state, I was paying more attention to her clothes. Ridiculous, I admit.

Arriving at the third floor, the doors finally open and I'm rewarded with the stale smell of cheap cologne and burned coffee. I stride eagerly to Jane's desk, anxious to see her and regain a sense of calmness and clarity. I distractedly wave hello to a few detectives that greet me as I round the corner to arrive at Jane's spot, just to find it empty.

I glance around and see no sign of her. No jacket haphazardly slung over her chair. No messy papers, random case files, or crumpled up notes littering her desk. No keys left dangling irresponsibly from her locked drawer. The only sign of her is a half-full cup of Dunkin's coffee now sitting cold on her desk. One look at the color confirms my suspicion of why it wasn't finished. Jane takes her regular coffee with two cream and two sugars. This coffee clearly has more cream than she prefers.

Disappointed, I gracefully drop down into her chair and sit primly with my legs folded underneath me and set my bag in my lap. I made the mistake once of putting my new Hermés Birkin purse down on the floor on this level and was rewarded with several unsightly stains as the result. Very different from the cleanliness I demand from the janitorial staff in charge of the morgue.

Minutes tick by and there is still no sign of Jane. I decide to send her a quick text message as I am growing more and antsier to leave for the day and put my foolish near-encounter with the mystery woman behind me.

My phone chimes and I smile when I read Jane's text.

"Friggin meeting dun soon XOXO."

One skill that Jane clearly lacks is the ability to form complete sentences or spell properly when texting.

Bored and still feeling that I'm being overly-attentive to my surroundings, I look for something to count to calm myself. Meaningless counting is one of my many self-soothing exercises.

I count 937 flecks in the laminate surface of Jane's tidy desk before I hear a low voice behind me. It is as warm as a sun-drenched room and I can feel the affection resonating in its low timbres.

"Maur?"

I turn and give her a weak smile. She grins at me and brushes a strand of hair back from my face.

"What's so fascinating about my desk?" Her eyes narrow and I know she knows something is wrong.

Intuition.

Clearing my throat, I give her my best smile. "Nothing." I tell her innocently. "I was just admiring the color of the laminate. I've never actually been able to see it as it's always a mess."

"Ha." She rolls her dark eyes at me. It's amazing to me how well her eyelashes stand out despite her defiance to wearing any kind of eye makeup. "You're hilarious. Hope you enjoyed it, as you won't see it look like this again until the fire marshal's inspection next year." She grins evilly before flopping down the huge stack of papers and folders she holds in her arms onto her desk, almost upsetting the cold coffee. Shrugging off her jacket, she throws it down on top of the last bare spot of the desk before rummaging around in her drawer until she finds a rubber band. She places it in her teeth and pulls her hair back with her long fingers while grumbling about her meeting.

"Pain in the ass meeting kept me late today. Budget cuts, blah blah, milking the system, blah blah, overuse of personal time, blah blah, and typical bullshit. Poor Frost and Korsak are still in there trying to explain why they had $80 in meal expenses in two days. Idiots parked outside of Mike's Pastry and gorged themselves while they were supposed to be investigating that North End murder while I was on my bed rest."

Finally done with her hair, she grins at me. "Any idiot knows that Modern is the only pastry shop that fills each cannoli fresh to order each time. Chefs at Mike's are bums and they always freeze them. Pop won't even go to Mike's anymore; he knows Ma will kill him if he brings home pre-frozen cannoli."

She sounds just like her father, and I can't help but smile as I imagine a small Jane tagging along with Frank through the bustling streets of the North End on a mission to fetch the perfect cannoli.

Jane pulls Frost's chair away from his desk and sits in it backwards, resting her long arms on the seat back. Her eyes study mine. A long tendril of her wavy hair escapes it's confinement and drops down, swaying gently. I focus on it, wondering how anyone's natural hair color can consist of seven distinct shades of brown. Jane obviously has a high concentration of brown eumelanin in addition to red pheomelanin; which is highly unusual, but very beautiful. I love to see how the color of her hair changes with the light in our room. When we first wake up, the early morning light leaves her hair bathed in an amber glow. In the bright blue skies of the autumn afternoons, her hair appears dark – almost black. But it is now – sunset – when I love her hair the most. The pink and purple skies create a rich auburn aurora.

"Whassa matter?" She asks quietly, her hands fidgeting with the ripped vinyl of the seat back. I know she wants to take my hands into hers.

I remain quiet for several seconds, my eyes locked on hers. Can she really read my mind? I've asked this to myself time and time again since we started our relationship. I've never been able to come up with a conclusive answer.

"We need to talk." I tell her softly. "Nothing is actually wrong, I am just concerned about some feelings I've been having and my reactions to them."

I can see confusion in her eyes as I continue. "It has nothing to do with _us_."

She gives me a small smile, and I can tell by the way her body relaxes that she understands.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here. I've had enough of this place for the day." Jane stands up, kicking Frost's chair back to its rightful place.

Then, despite the ever-watchful eyes of the department gossips, Jane does something that I do not expect. She reaches her hand down to help me up, and once I'm standing next to her, places a tender kiss to the top of my head.

I feel my face flush, but Jane takes it all in stride. While the other detectives collectively gasp, Jane slings her jacket under her arm, and wraps an arm around my shoulders as she leads me to the elevators.


End file.
